


For Just a Moment to Be

by missmichellebelle



Series: Strawberry Sandwich [1]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daddies, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:19:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry,” Darren whispers as he rocks their daughter. “She won’t—”</p><p>“Here.” Chris opens his arms, and Darren feels a little deflated—he wants to be a good dad, he wants to be able to do this, but it’s more important that Sophie sleeps. Darren’s ego can wait. So he shifts the little purple lump of baby girl in his arms and slips her into Chris’s, and he immediately pulls her close and begins to rock her as well.</p><p>But after a few minutes, it’s clear it’s not going to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Just a Moment to Be

They’ve only been dads for two weeks, but Darren is already positive that he is the worst dad in the history of ever.

Sophie won’t stop crying. He holds her close, smoothing his hand down her back and rocking her, but she just keeps wailing and wailing and wailing. It’s his turn, because they’ve already established enough of a rhythm that Darren knows when it’s his turn, and Chris knows when it’s his own turn.

And this particular hour, it’s Darren’s turn. And it’s been Darren’s turn for a good forty-five minutes, and, normally, Sophie is back to sleep by now (and so is Darren).

Except she keeps crying, and not sleeping.

Darren shoots a tired glance at the baby monitor on the dresser, still switched on, and he heads towards it, still swaying Sophie from side-to-side, still whispering against her hair. They’re tricks that have worked before, but tonight she’s having none of it.

Just as Darren clicks the monitor off, Chris appears in the doorway, hair a mess and eyes barely open.

“I’m sorry,” Darren whispers as he rocks their daughter. “She won’t—”

“Here.” Chris opens his arms, and Darren feels a little deflated—he wants to be a good dad, he wants to be able to  _do_  this, but it’s more important that Sophie sleeps. Darren’s ego can wait. So he shifts the little purple lump of baby girl in his arms and slips her into Chris’s, and he immediately pulls her close and begins to rock her as well.

But after a few minutes, it’s clear it’s not going to work.

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Darren asks, alarmed. What if she’s sick? What if she’s teething? Wait, he’s pretty sure two week old’s don’t teethe. Oh god, what if it’s colic? Hadn’t Chris read that whole thing about colic?

“Shh, baby girl, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Chris is murmuring, but he shoots Darren a worried look. They’re still so new at this, everything is still a mix of wonderful and terrifying, and Darren wishes that he’d had some sort of practice before being given an actual living, breathing, little person.

Maybe he should call his mom.

“Dare,” Chris whispers in distress,  and Darren walks over, pushing a hand through his hair—he’s scared, and unsure, and he just wants to make things better for both Chris and Sophie.

“I’ve got an idea.” Darren leans close, kissing Chris on the temple before leaning down to press a kiss to the hair of their wailing daughter. “Be back in a second.”

When he does come back, guitar in hand, Chris is settled into the rocking chair in the corner of the room. His eyes are closed, and Sophie is still crying, resting on his chest, her face red. She’s wailing more than actually crying, no tears but just her tiny, shrill, heart-breaking screams.

Chris cracks open his eyes, and immediately looks confused.

“What are you doing with that?” He asks in a whisper, and Darren walks closer, grabbing the detached foot of the rocker and arranging it so he can sit beside them.

“I’m going to play it.” Darren has no idea  _what_  he’s going to play just yet, but it’s an idea, and it’s worth trying.

“You’re just going to upset her more.” There’s a deep furrow between Chris’s eyebrows, and he looks so put out by the idea that Darren nearly doesn’t do it.

“Just…” He reaches toward them—the two most important people in his life now—and sets a hand on Sophie’s back. “Let me try?” He looks from her distorted face up to Chris’s, and he gives a little nod. At this rate, they’re going to try anything before one of them actually  _does_  call a mom.

Darren strums once over the strings, his mind reeling, before he starts to pluck out a song.

At first, it doesn’t seem to make a difference, but then Chris is urgently whispering, “Darren,  _Darren_ ,” and, when he looks up, Sophie is looking at him. She’s still slightly wailing, but she’s looking at him with more curiosity than displeasure. Chris is running his hand up and down her back, and it’s… It’s  _working_.

It’s a short song, so Darren starts it over, this time, singing softly along.

“ _He turns the seasons around, and so she changes her gown, but they always look in their prime. They go on dancing their dance, of everlasting romance, Mother Earth and Father Time_.”

Darren plays and sings until Sophie’s face goes slack, and her breathing turns even, and she is certainly, definitely asleep on his husband’s chest. He’s afraid to stop playing, afraid that she’ll wake up, but he lets the music fade softly out, very carefully, until he’s stilling the strings with his hand.

“Mmm, keep playing,” Chris whispers, and Darren chuckles quietly, leaning his guitar against the nursery wall before he goes to scoop Sophie up. She is  _out_ , and he breathes a sigh of relief, gently kissing her forehead before he sets her down in her crib.

He watches her for a moment, and then smiles when he feels Chris slip up behind him—a warm slide of palm up and down his back, before settling, familiar and comforting on Darren’s hip. Chris reaches into the crib, slipping the baby blanket over Sophie, and they both stand there for a moment—very tired,  _very_  relieved, and very much in love.

“Come on, bed,” Chris urges, and Darren smiles dopily at the thought, because  _bed_. He yawns, stifling the noise with his hand, and then reaches over to turn the baby monitor back on.

They slip into the hallway, their limbs moving slow and sleep heavy as they head back to their bedroom.

“That was a great idea,” Chris finally says, and Darren beams at him.

“I think our daughter is going to be musical,” Darren replies, both wistful and hopeful. Fuck, he doesn’t care if she decides to be a firefighter (actually, can’t firefighters  _die?_ Maybe not), but he loves the idea of singing with her, teaching her to play instruments.

“Well, she definitely has a lung capacity.” Chris slips under the comforter, and Darren hurries in after him, moving in close to his body heat. Chris gives him a bemused look, but slips his arm around Darren, holding him in sleep pliant arms.

“Yeah…” Darren yawns, hiding his face in Chris’s neck. “S’gonna be a rock star.”

“Just like you.”

Darren makes a happy noise in the back of his throat as Chris kisses his temple.

“How’d you come up with that, anyway?” Chris voices is getting sluggish, and they’re both so tired that sleep is easily overtaking that.

“My mom,” Darren murmurs, rubbing his nose against Chris’s throat. “Used to sing to me when I was little. Or get the blow dryer, if that didn’t work.” He sinks into Chris’s hold heavily, his body relaxing. “That was my next idea.”

“A blow dryer?” Chris’s voice sounds amused, but far away.

“I liked the sound.”

If Chris says anything after that, Darren doesn’t remember. Just remembers the faint rumbles of Chris’s chest beneath his cheek as he falls asleep.


End file.
